Playing in the Shadows
by herpyderpyhojo
Summary: This is set in the 1920s, when Al Capone (famous American/Italian gangster) was probably at his most powerful. I'm assuming you'll know who "Abe" is, but if not, Alfred is referring to Abraham Lincoln, 16th President of America.
1. Chapter 1

Playing In The Shadows (Chapter 1)

The month was March, though for the beginning of Spring, it was pretty darn cold. The streets were a little slushy, and Alfred cursed under his breath as the water leaked through his leather shoes. It was late, and no-one was really around, which was ideal. In spite of this, Alfred pulled his hat down over his eyes, trying to avoid the odd straggler that would occasionally walk past. Glancing over his shoulder, he turned down an alleyway, walking slightly faster than before. He wasn't afraid of being caught - it hadn't been made illegal to drink alcohol, only to sell it. It was just pretty darn cold. Tugging at his soft black gloves, Alfred rapped sharply against the door of the speakeasy with the back of his hand, and waited to be let in. The door opened ajar. "So, amico, state your name and purpose. If you are a cop, please a leave immediately!" The short Italian started to feel slightly flustered, and seemed to be quite impatient. Alfred smirked - the hat over his eyes really was enough to cover himself up. Or maybe it was just Feliciano. He discreetly lifted the hat up, his blue eyes shining mischievously.

"It's just me, pal."

The Italian smiled in acknowledgement. "Ahh! Mr Jones! I've been expecting you! Please, come in!" He opened the door, and ushered Alfred into the room.

"Hm, so formal.."Alfred muttered, grinning and walking in with more confidence, as he shrugged his jacket off. "You knew I'd show up tonight, huh? How's that?" He tried to keep the worry out of his voice - he knew word spread fast around here, but he hadn't told anyone where he was going tonight. Apart from one person, whom would undoubtedly find out anyway.

"You really think Al Capone can keep a secret from me?" His eyes glinted in the lamplight. "Besides, you Americans are so predictable!" He chuckled to himself and helped take off Alfred's coat, and hung it up on the rack. A slight stab of uneasiness grew in Alfred's stomach at the mention of Capone. In truth, he was scared of him, though he'd never admit it to anyone. Capone had always been strangely kind to him, but Alfred knew everything he did behind the scenes. Frankly, it made him sick. He knew he was going against his boss by co-operating with this man, but he felt as if he had no choice. Prohibition was never going to succeed. Alfred knew this, and he didn't agree with alcohol being banned. Capone had helped him - he was paying him large amounts of money, while keeping his trail clear. However, working behind the President's back... it made him feel unbelievably guilty. He managed to brush off the comment about him being predictable.

"Is that right...?" He asked though he didn't really phrase it as a question, and placed himself down on a stool at the bar.

"Si, it's right. Admit it, Alfred, you want to overthrow Capone too..." The glint in his eyes was almost maniacal. "You didn't see what he did to my family..."

"Wha.." Alfred's eyes grew wide for a second, before returning to their cool, collected state. "I don't know what you're talking about." He wasn't sure he could trust the Italian with this, though it was true. Capone could have sent him to spy on him, to see if he was loyal.. and Alfred knew all to well what Capone did if he found out one of his followers wasn't loyal. Alfred had just been hoping to lay low for a while, and not take action.

"It's alright Alfred, you can talk to me..." The Italian looked around. "You see that man to the left?" He looked briefly to the man on his left. "He is carrying a machine gun. The minute you walk out of this bar, he's planning to shoot me. Now... You really don't want blood on your ledger, do you, amico?" Alfred froze. Feliciano was going to be killed? But where the hell was that guy carrying a machine gun? Alfred paused, then sighed, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair.

"Right, then I ain't leavin' any time soon. What is it you need?"

"I need... a diversion. His machine gun is in the violin case, but luckily, I have the bullets..." He smirked and pulled out a cigarette. "Care to take one amico? It'll take your mind off things.."

"A diversion..?" Alfred frowned, dismissing the cigarette with his hand. "What exactly are you planning?" Felciano held the cigarette in his fingers.

"You know... I have never smoked in my life... But today is a good time to start..." He flicked his lighter and part of the room blew up. "Mamma mia! Now how did that happen?" He smirked, and a smile re-appeared on Alfred's face. He'd always enjoyed spending time with this guy, even if he was a whole world of crazy.

"Well, first time for everything, but I'll pass." His eyes flickered. "Let's get down to business - what sort of diversion do you need? And why? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make America American again." He smiled, and put the cigarette away. "I always knew these were dangerous!" Alfred rolled his eyes - how was this man so easily distracted in the face of such an issue?

Alfred rolled his eyes. "That's kinda vague, buddy. I'm gonna need details, you know?"

"Al Capone needs to be caught. Too long he has brought fear to America! I guess you could say it's a the modern version of the French revolution?" Alfred thought for a moment.

"Why are you gettin' involved? You're Italian, not American, it's not your country. Why put yourself at risk when there's nothin' in it for you?"

"Because he killed my family... and I wish to seek revenge." His steely gaze looked around the bar. "Also, I am meant to be the leader of the mafia! The bastardo..." He muttered. Alfred nodded slowly, his eyes softening.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He noticed that the man with the violin case was gone - he was probably waiting for them outside... "I can't stand how he treats people.. I know he's helped me, but I'm going against Mr Hoover. As much as I dislike him, it isn't right." Alfred thought, his blue eyes turning slightly distant. He abruptly poured himself some Bourbon, taking a gulp and running his hand through his hair again before continuing. "There was a time when I'd never have dreamed of going against my boss.. "

"Si, I understand that, amico" He took a long gulp of bourbon. "You know, I quite like American alcohol. Much stronger than wine" He smiled and poured himself another glass. Alfred sighed - the majority of alcohol nowadays was imported from Canada and elsewhere, but he decided to let that one slide.

"It's good stuff, I know." Alfred's lips twitched upwards in a sad smile, as he remembered certain things he'd done his best to forget. He wasn't going to say anything, though, he tried to act like nothing was wrong.

"You seem troubled, Alfred..." The bar was now empty. "Tell me, what's happened, amico?" He climbed over the counter to get more bourbon. Alfred's hair had dropped to cover his eyes, which were now heavy lidded. Could he bring himself to talk about it? After all these years? Feliciano looked at his friend.

"You don't look so buon..."

"Feli... do you remember Abe?"

"That really good president who did amazing things for America? How could I forget him?" Alfred managed a weak yet fond smile.

"Yeah..." he trailed off, hastily pouring himself another drink.

"But that was years ago!"

"It was... but it feels like it was yesterday." Alfred took a large gulp. "Feli... He was my hero. There was nothing I wouldn't do for that man, nothing... and there was nothing he wouldn't do for me. For all of us. He saw and treated me like a hero, like I was important... and around him, I felt important, y'know?" He took another sip. "He was the kindest man I ever knew. When he died..." Alfred clenched his fist on the table, "no, when he was MURDERED... I didn't know what to do. I was lost. And if I'm honest, I still am. I hate this. It just makes me think... what would he have done...?" Alfred didn't notice, but his eyes were starting to grow ever so slightly watery. Feliciano tried to hug his friend.

"Alfred, I hear there's a new hero on the horizon- someone who has battled with his own physical difficulties... Someone called Roosevelt?" He paused for a minute. "I genuinely believe he can make your country great again."

"Yeah..." Alfred managed another weak smile. "I hope so... he reminds me of him." Feliciano smiled.

"Cheer up, amico! You still have your fratello!" Alfred flashed back to those dark months of mourning - his brother, Mattie, had been there every step of the way, though they rarely discussed those events. It was something that hadn't been brought up until now.

"I know, and I love him. I'm just not gonna get over Abe any time soon, I doubt I ever will. But here I am, going against Hoover... then again, Abe wouldn't have been stupid enough to ban alcohol, now would he?" Alfred chuckled.

"Oh si, he knew how to give a good time!" Feliciano giggled and drank some more. Alfred smiled.

"As soon as this Hoover prick - pardon my French - is voted out of power, I can do him proud again. None of this gang crap, no more violence." Feliciano grinned.

"Now you speak my language American. So, any ideas?"

"Not a clue. You?"

"I have something in mind, but you probably aren't going to like it..."

Alfred frowned, his hand tightening around the glass slightly. "Go on.."

"I have a feeling we have got to get closer to Al Capone- he's the only one who can persuade the public into anything!"

There was a long silence, before Alfred laughed.

"This could be interesting!" 


	2. Chapter 2

"Si, very interesting. What I also find interesting is that man staring at us from outside." Feliciano looked up, realized what was going on, and grabbed Alfred, pulling behind the bar table as machine gun bullets tore through the silence in the air.

"What the..?!" Alfred's exclamation was cut short as he dived across the bar table, hiding behind it with Feliciano. He'd brought his gun, but was unsure of how many bullets he had with him - he didn't exactly carry boxes of them around with him. "Who the fuck is this guy?!" He yelled over the sound of the gunfire. Feliciano looked stunned.

"How am I meant to know who he is? I can't exactly walk up to him and ask his name WHEN HE'S FIRING AT US!" Feliciano started to wave a little white flag, but the bullets destroyed it. Alfred let out an exasperated sigh - old habits die hard, he supposed. "You know, in Italy, we have a saying to describe this." He started rummaging through his jacket in frustration, not being able to find what he was looking for. "It goes like this - We're fucked."

"Funny, we say that too," mumbled Alfred, "but we're not fucked, not yet!" He briefly looked over the bar table, then back down. He hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of the man's face, but one thing was for sure. This guy had weak defense, and his movements were predictable enough for Alfred. He stood up quickly, gun in hand, jumping to the side to avoid the bullets. Sure enough, this man was slow, and not cut out for this sort of thing - his aim was awful. Alfred fired the gun. The bullet slammed into the man's shoulder, and he cursed loudly, crumpling to the floor.

"Buon shot, Alfred!" Feliciano patted him on the shoulder, then walked over to the man, followed by Alfred. "Do you have any idea what a white flag means?! You dumb-ass!" he shrieked in his high pitched voice, then shuddered. "Dammit, Alfred. This American language is rubbing off on me." Alfred laughed.

"That's hardly top priority now, Feli." He flipped the gun around, show-off that he was, and his eyes moved to look at the man, who was now trying to crawl away. Alfred slammed his heel into his back, and the man grunted in pain. "Where d'ya think you're goin', Mister?" Feliciano nodded. Alfred was definitely the man for the job he was planning.

"Alfred, if you let him go, he'll go running back to his boss," Feliciano raised his own gun to rest against the man's temple, "it has to be done." With that, the Italian pulled the trigger.

The blonde American didn't even flinch as blood splattered over the bar room floor. He kicked the body over, sighing. He had been hoping to keep him alive for interrogation.

"What a pain."

It was times like these that Alfred showed a different side to him. A ruthless killer. Feliciano seemed surprised.

"I thought you were more compassionate..." he murmured, but waved his hand dismissively. "Well, we're obviously on someone's radar..." Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Not towards someone trying to kill me, I'm not. Besides, you're the one who killed him, I just slowed him down." Alfred's brows furrowed in thought. "I'd have thought he'd come with back up, but question is, where are they?"

"Perhaps they are cowering in an alleyway?" The Italian turned on his heel. "I suggest you come with me." Alfred frowned.

"Maybe this sucker really did come here alone... that was pretty stupid. I almost feel sorry for him." Alfred sighed, shaking his head - he knew they should have asked him who sent him, before blowing his brains out.

"Best not to take any chances." At that moment, a black ford pulled up next to the bar. Alfred grabbed his jacket, and the two walked through the door into the cold night. Feliciano spoke soft Italian to the driver in a hushed whisper, and he opened the door. "Please step in, Alfred." he tried to usher the American in.

"Uh, okay." Alfred got into the car, feeling a little uneasy. What if it turned out that Feliciano was just an expert liar? What if this had all been set up, and was some sort of trap? "Where are we goin'?"

"To meet our employer." Feliciano said quietly, starting to tremble a little. Alfred stiffened up.

"What?! Now?! Capone?!" Alfred felt himself panicking, and tried to calm himself down. The palms of his hands were growing a little sweaty, and he took his gloves off, shoving them carelessly into his pockets. "What for?"

"We have to report this death." Feliciano smirked. "Aww, is the hero scared? Relax, we'll be fine!" He grinned a reassuring smile. Of course, given the circumstances, he could not guarantee that the two of them would be "fine".

"No, but... you know what this guy is like."

"Indeed I do." He motioned for Alfred to move, and he pulled out a violin case. He opened it, and the contents included a tommy gun, and enough grenades to fuel a small army. "This was probably the reason behind the munitions crisis..." he muttered, handing some grenades to Alfred. "Did you really think I was going to go in unprepared? I'm a wanted man, Alfred, and I will defend myself." Alfred gave the grenades a scrutinizing look, before slipping them into his pockets too.

"Yeah, but... why do we need to report this? Wouldn't it just be better to lay low?" He frowned, feeling himself begin to lose his temper. What was it with this darn Italian?! Why did he always keep the details to himself? And why the hell was he wanted?! "You're being vague again! What are you wanted for? And we can't just walk in and throw grenades at Capone, that's just dumb!"

"I am not being vague! I'm a wanted man for killing my own family!" Alfred was about to interrupt, but Feliciano flicked the back of his head. "You Americans are so stupido! Al Capone framed me for killing my own family, because he wanted me out of the mafia circuit. You have grenades, in case he's unreasonable and decides to pick a fight." He sighed as the car came to a halt outside a wealthy looking building. "We're here."

"You could've told me all that before, I'm not psychic! Jeez!" Alfred snapped, as he usually did when he was scared, and it was blatantly obvious now that he was terrified of Capone. "And I'm not stupid, okay?!" He climbed out of the car, letting out an irritated sigh.

"Don't you snap at me, stupid American!" Out of nowhere, Feliciano punched Alfred square on the jaw. This caused Capone's guards to spot him, and they grabbed Feliciano tight. "I hope you rot in hell, amico!" he screamed out as he was dragged away.

The punch hadn't really hurt (this was an Italian, after all...), but it surprised Alfred, And made him mad. Really mad. "What the fuck, Feli?!" He looked up to see his friend being dragged away, and froze up. Then when Feliciano had said "amico" after insulting him, he realized that this was all part of the plan. Feliciano was allowing himself to be taken in by the guards, while Alfred spoke to Capone. Good thinking, Feli, he thought. One of the guards recognized him, and smiled, leading him inside. "Good job catching him, Jones." Alfred nodded in fake acknowledgement, eyeing the place warily. Jeez, Capone really was rich.

Feliciano whimpered as he was dragged off, but smirked once they were behind closed doors. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I think you may have the wrong man." The henchmen just laughed at him, and tightened their grip. Feliciano winced slightly, but carried on talking, regardless. "You know Capone did it. All you need is evidence, that's all it takes! What if I were to give you sufficient evidence?"

"Yeah yeah, keep talking." One of the henchmen murmured. Feliciano calmed himself down, and smirked again.

"You do know your boss is committing tax evasion, si?" The men laughed, and aimed a punch at Feliciano.

"Idiot. Wait 'till he hears about this, this is gonna be good!" One of them slammed a kick into Feliciano's stomach, and he whimpered.

"S-Shit... you Americans are really bastardos!"

Alfred gingerly walked into the room, the guard was waiting outside. The first thing he noticed was the strong smell of alcohol and smoke, and the room was a little foggy as a result. The second thing he noticed was how ridiculously large the room was. Alfred kept walking, and inwardly noted what bad taste it was in. The walls were painted red, which was starting to crack and flake off, and Alfred repressed a shudder. It might as well have been painted in his victim's blood, there was certainly enough of it. The paintings on the wall were rather obscure, and there was a large deer head mounted. Just the sort of thing Alfred hated. Upon reaching the desk, Alfred tipped his hat, nodding towards the large man sitting in front of him. Capone smiled.

"Good evening, Mr Jones."

"Good evening, Mr Capone, sir." Alfred tried his best to seem confident and polite.

"Mr Jones, a matter has sprung to my attention." There was a fat cigar in his hand, and he took a long draw from it, breathing the smoke in Alfred's face. Alfred blinked at the strong smell, trying not to cough. "It seems you have been working with Feliciano Vargas, or at least, it looks like it. You are playing a dangerous game, Mr Jones, and so I must ask you this question. Answer it correctly, and you will live to drink another day. Answer incorrectly, well..." Capone let himself trail off, because he knew Alfred already knew. "Were you working with Feliciano Vargas?" He leaned forward in his chair, in a sadistic form of anticipation. Alfred felt himself beginning to sweat. Shit. How could he know that? It had only happened today! Regardless, he kept a cool face, adjusted his glasses, and answered.

"No, sir. I found him in a speakeasy tonight. Him being a wanted man and all, I thought you'd want him taken care of." Capone waved his hand.

"Correct answer." A henchman walked in, and whispered something Alfred couldn't quite hear. "I see... Mr Jones, a job for you, to prove your loyalty to me." He signaled, and Feliciano was dragged in, bound up and bloody.

"I-I am not surrendering to scum like you!" The Italian spat. Capone merely chuckled, looking up at Alfred, worryingly calm.

"Alfred. Kill the traitor." 


End file.
